


From The Hips

by cameronmonaghan



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Heartbreak, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameronmonaghan/pseuds/cameronmonaghan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"From our hips we don't give a shit. It just feels good and that's no sin. It's the only way to feel alive. The closest thing to being born again."</p><p>He was being reckless, unscripted, wild. It felt good to feel something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Hips

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to the song "From the Hips" by the band Cursive which was introduced to me by Cameron Monaghan as a part of his Ian Gallagher Season 5 playlist. It inspired me to attempt to write a song fic, where I compare the lyrics to Ian's mind and actions. (Trigger warning for drunken sex with a stranger/cheating?)

_I'm at my best when I'm at my worst_  
_I'm at worst when it's not rehearsed_  
_I don't wanna know the goddamn words  
I don't wanna have to spell it out_

 

Ian couldn't stand the way his family, and his boyfriend, treated him, and talked to him, after the bipolar diagnosis. They acted like treating him like a regular human being was too dangerous, and that he might break. Ian hated being thought of as weak, or incapable.

During one barely organized dinner, Mickey slid Ian his pills to take with the meal. Ian stared at the pills for a good minute or two before rolling his eyes away from them, continuing to take small bites of the meal he wasn't overly interested in. He felt Mickey nudge his side. With a quiet sigh, Ian picked up the pills and popped them into his mouth, chasing them down with water. He took another couple of bites before losing his appetite completely. Ian pushed his chair back and took his plate to the kitchen. He scraped off the remaining food, not bothering to ask Mickey if he wanted to eat it; Ian didn't want to receive an earful about how he 'really needs to eat with the pills'.

Ian took the steps two at a time until he was upstairs. He moved across the hallway and into the Gallagher boys' room, crashing down onto his bed. He buried his face in his pillow, ignoring the sound of someone else entering the room.

"Hey," Mickey made himself known quietly. When Ian didn't respond, Mickey sat on the edge of the bed, reaching up to rub his boyfriend's shoulder gently. "What's wrong?"

Ian thought about that.  _What was wrong? What wasn't wrong?_ "Everything," he answered after a moment. "I can't fuckin' live like this."

"It'll get better," Mickey said in an attempt to comfort the redhead.

"No, Mick. That's the thing about lifelong disorders. They don't get better."

 

-x-

 

_Don't wanna mumble what i'm trying to say_  
_I wanna scream it from my foaming mouth_  
_Shoot out the lights and ride away_

 

Nothing annoyed Ian more than the fact that Mickey was anything but himself around him these days. He understood trying to keep the mood light, but the Mickey he'd fallen for was gone. Or, at least in hiding. Ian hated it.

"Mick... Do you wanna drink with me?" Ian asked his boyfriend one afternoon as they laid in bed together. Mickey's sigh caused Ian to grow irritated immediately.

"You're not supposed to drink on your meds, Ian. We've been over this, an-"

" _Fuck_ , Mickey! Since when the fuck do you care about  _health?_ For Christ's sake, stop being such a fucking  _pussy_. I want  _my_ Mickey back."

Mickey was speechless. Big surprise.

 

-x-

 

_I'm at my worst when I'm at my best_  
_I'm at my best when I'm trying to look_  
_And think and talk and sing and read and write_  
_Like all the rest_  
_We're all just trying to play our rolls_  
_In a play that runs ad nauseam_

 

Ian compared himself to other people a lot. It was the easiest way for him to attempt any determination as to whether or not he was actually 'crazy'. He often caught himself watching what other people were doing around him before attempting to mock their actions, their facial expressions, even their feelings. He was trying so hard to fit in, and to play his role in life. It often made him physically ill to think about how different he truly was from the people around him. All he wanted was to belong, to be the same. But he'd never belonged. He'd never  _mattered_. He was the black sheep; The unimportant one; The last one to be thought of. Ian Gallagher was sure he was hated, but even more sure that nobody hated him as much as he hated himself.

 

-x-

 

_I hate this damn enlightenment_  
_We were better off as animals, right?_

 

Laying alone in his bed, Ian remembered the past. A certain memory came along; The first time he and Mickey had, had sex. It was so unscripted and realistic, and it felt so good, and scary, and thrilling. Ian would kill to have moments like those again, but Mickey wasn't reckless anymore. He was 'respectable', and overprotective, and  _soft._ Not that Ian minded Mickey being an emotional, possessive, outed boyfriend, but it wasn't that simple. Mickey wasn't even  _being_ himself. He was being someone Ian didn't know; Someone who Ian would have never fallen for. He was careful and falsely enthusiastic. He missed the times when they were reckless and excited and  _in love_. They were so unconsciously passionate, and jealous, and horny. It had felt so good, but it wasn't like that anymore. All because of this stupid diagnosis.

 

-x-

 

_We're at our best when it's from our hips_  
_From our hips we don't give a shit_  
_It just feels good and that's no sin_  
_It's the only way to feel alive_  
_The closest thing to being born again_  
_And when baby comes it's job well done_  
_Roll in the hay, oh roll around the sun_

 

The thought had crossed Ian's mind that things might have been better if he and Mickey had just remained 'fuck-buddies', and not brought emotions into the equation. There were no obligations when they first started having sex, and even though Ian had developed a huge crush on Mickey, a crush was so completely harmless compared to a fully developed relationship. Ian didn't enjoy the idea of settling; Although sometimes it seemed nice, he knew he'd eventually grow bored. And that's not fair to Mickey, he thought.

One night, when Mickey had run out of town with one of his brothers, Ian had slipped off to the club he used to work at. Enjoying his independence, he got plastered off of a few shots of alcohol. He moved to the center of the dance floor and worked the moves he used to own back when he was a dancer here. He, of course, attracted the attention of many.

A handsome man, probably mid-thirties, approached Ian. He stepped behind him and gripped his hips, causing the drunken minor to sway. Ian pressed his ass into the man, grinding back into him. The two danced like that for a few minutes before the man leaned in close. "Want to use one of the side rooms?" he asked in a seductive tone. "I know the owner. It's fine." Drunk, Ian agreed.

He was led to one of the side rooms used for private shows. The older man wasted no time in unbuckling Ian's belt. He swayed as the man pulled his jeans and boxers down to his knees. He guided Ian to the love seat, bending him over it. The man quickly pulled his pants down and released his own cock, grinding against Ian's bare ass. The drunk boy just moaned in anticipation, not able to think, or see, or feel anything right. He groaned into the cushion when he thought the nameless man was taking too long.

The older man rolled on a lubricated condom. "You need prepped?" he asked abruptly, clearly in a hurry to get off.

"Nah," Ian mumbled into the cushioning. "Too drunk to feel," he slurred. The man decided he was content with that and pushed the tip of his cock into Ian's entrance. Ian remained silent as the man inched his way in, bottoming out. He impatiently pulled out almost all of the way and slammed back in, causing the redhead to moan. Ian wasn't sure if it was a moan of pain or a moan of pleasure, unable to determine what he was feeling. The man began to fuck him hard, and Ian reciprocated as much as he could in the position he was in, and through his alcohol-induced haze.

Ian let his mind wander when he felt the older man's hand wrap around his cock and begin to stroke it. He let out moans, mostly to please the other man, briefly thinking of Mickey.  _It's okay_ , he told himself.  _It just feels good. It's just sex._   _This isn't wrong. I"m not doing anything wrong_.

Any amount of guilt that Ian might have felt was defeated when the man brushed over his prostate. He cried out in pleasure, releasing into the man's hand. The man stroked his cock as he rode out his orgasm in heavy panted breaths, and a minute or so later, he reached his climax as well.

The cleanup was quick and silent. The man discarded his condom in a trash bin provided and walked out without saying anything to the redhead. Ian realized he had just been used for a good fuck. It should make him feel shitty, but it did the exact opposite. He was being  _reckless_ ,  _unscripted, wild._ It felt good to feel something.

 

-x-

 

_We're at our worst when it's from our lips_  
_From our lips we caused a rift,_  
_And world has fallen in_  
_From babble to ball room brawls_  
_Our words have formed a death sentence_  
_And I wish that we had never talked_  
_Our hips said it all_

 

As Ian released his seed into Mickey's mouth after a quick blowjob, he thought of the man he'd let fuck him in the club. It had felt so good to just  _fuck_. It wasn't fucking with Mickey anymore, but more  _making love_. And Ian enjoyed making love to Mickey, but every once in a while, you really need a good, healthy fuck.

Mickey crawled back up the bed and laid beside Ian, draping an arm over him. He fell asleep relatively fast, leaving Ian to his thoughts. Once again, he began to wonder how things would be now if he and Mickey had never formed an emotional connection. He wondered where they'd be if they'd done things Mickey's way; A quick wordless fuck as a simple stress reliever. He wondered  _when_ they'd ever started doing more than just fucking.

He wished they'd never started doing more. Now things were complicated. Now he had an obligation to live, to function, to not give up. Without Mickey, he'd be living every day like it was his last, and probably be on some street, high on something, infected with something else, and  _free_. Ian hated that, that was his idea of freedom: recklessness. He, for once, blamed it on his disorder. One day he'd wish more than anything that he and Mickey had never talked, had never become anything more than beneficial fucks to each other, but other days he'd catch himself daydreaming about a future with Mickey, and kids, and a house, and an attempt at the happiness they'd never really known. He supposed that was pretty much a black-and-white definition of bipolar disease.

 

-x-

 

Ian was grateful for Mickey. Through everything, through all of his mistakes and his victories, Mickey never left. He never even mentioned leaving. Mickey was his, was something he could hold onto. He was so thankful for that.

Stripping down to his boxers and a t-shirt, Ian crawled into his bed inside of the Gallagher boys' room. He laid beside Mickey, reaching up to run his fingers through his dark, soft hair. Ian watched as Mickey stirred, his eyelids cracking open to reveal blue eyes that Ian adored.

"Hey," Mickey mumbled in a sleepy voice that Ian found incredibly attractive.

"Hey," Ian replied, pressing his forehead to Mickey's. "Know what?"

"Mm?" Mickey smiled a little, closing his eyes.

"I love you."

Mickey reopened his eyes, gazing up at the man he was fully and hopelessly devoted to. "Love you too. Go to sleep." Smiling wide, Mickey closed his eyes again, starting to drift. Ian kissed him softly before cuddling into him, tangling their limbs together comfortably.  _A perfect fit_ , Ian thought. He thought about a future with Mickey, and kids, and a house, and an attempt at a happiness they'd never really known. He was determined to know that happiness, and to find it with Mickey. Ian drifted into a peaceful sleep.

 

-x-

 

He supposed that was pretty much a black-and-white definition of bipolar disease.

**Author's Note:**

> It's almost 4:30 and I didn't edit this. I'll go through it again tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed this piece! I'm not sure how I feel about incorporating song lyrics into a fic, but I enjoyed writing it. Feedback is appreciated!


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